A Piece In Their Games
by midnightafterdark
Summary: The first installment of "The Hunger Games Trilogy" in Peeta's POV!
1. Chapter 1

**AN: **Well, me being the horribly stereotypical person I am, I will be writing my first Hunger Games fanfic as The Hunger Games in Peeta's point of view. Yes, I realize this is the take everyone does on the trilogy but every one I've come across doesn't please me or is incomplete. Please, do not expect daily updates or even weekly for that matter. I _am_ a high school student, I _do_ have a life. I love writing but I simply do not always have the time for it. Thanks for understanding!

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the characters, plot line, or ideas of The Hunger Games.

When I wake up, it is sunny, contrary to other days when the first light I see is about two hours after I awake. But there is a reason the sun is up before I. There is a reason why everyone tries to outsleep the briliant natural shine today.

It is reaping day.

It's an annual event, the reaping. It's the one day each year that everyone in District 12- everyone in the nation of Panem- dreads. All except the pre-prepared hopeful children in the earlier Districts who all but fight for a spot in the arena.

Across from me, my two brothers still sleep. My eldest brother is too old to be chosen, he has nothing to worry about. My other brother, who is two years older than me, this is his last year. He is entered eight times. I am entered six.

A pair of dress pants and white button-up shirt wait for me in the closet I share with my brothers. It is reserved for the reaping day, otherwise I wear the standard bakers' uniform. Short-sleeved shirt, pants, smock. The expensive clothing is for later though; even on reaping day, I am expected to work.

I dress quickly in my normal clothing and walk silently to the small kitchen in the bakery's private quarters my family and I share. From the outside glace at our family's bakery, you may think we live in luxury compared to the others in District 12. Although we aren't starving as so many are, our food is stale and scarce. Our living quarters are small. One bathroom, two bedrooms, a small kitchen. It is more than most have. I am thankful.

"Move faster you stupid, good-for-nothing, boy! You have four cakes to finish for the celebrations tonight! Grab that apron over there and get to work! My god, just because it's reaping day everyone thinks they can suddenly laze around…" My mother is screaming at me less than twenty seconds after I enter the room, a new record.

"Yes mother." I obediently grab the familiar stained apron from a hook along with a frosting gun. I drag one of the four plain cakes towards me, set it on the revolving circle, and begin work.

The back door opens and I dont hear her voice, but his voice today.

My father trades with her. Them. She is not alone; she has a partner named Gale. He is her boyfriend, I think. Everyday, the back door quietly opens as not to raise suspicions from my mother and my father's quiet voice kindly takes their kill and hands them money.

The squirrels are fantastic, she shoots with incredible precision; always right in the eye. Father then carefully skins them, fries them up, and we have them for dinner, always telling Mother he had bought them in the Hob from a woman named Greasy Sae.

The Hob is the black market in town, mostly for trading. People sell and buy all the essentials there; soap, wool, salt, paraffin, herbs, medicines, the list goes on. Of course the Hob isn't only for household essentials, our bakery is one of the most popular businesses here. People come in everyday and trade what they can for breads and- if they have enough money- pastries.

"Here you go sir. All ready for the celebration tonight," he says kindly.

Gale and I have never been friends. He's two years older than me and lives in the Seam with his- I think- four siblings and mother. His father was blown to bits in the mines three years ago in a horrible accident, the same happening to hers.

As far as I know, she and Gale go out on just about a daily basis to gather fresh meat to trade in the Hob and for their families. Somehow, I'm not exactly sure how, but they've managed to even find strawberries which Father has bought from them once, maybe twice.

"Thank you. Here you go." I imagine him handing them the money. "And, ahem, good luck. To the both of you." My father isn't a big talker but he certainly means well.

"Thank you sir," her voice finally drifts up, clearly but cold. She isn't the friendly type; I don't understand why she speaks so cruelly and why there is almost always a frown on her face. "Same to you."

While carefully revolving the cake and frosting it with my most elegant blue flowers with green leaves and careful vine patterns, the door closes and they are gone. Of course, I will see them both in the square today for the reaping wearing the fanciest clothing Seam kids can find and huddling with their families, hoping to be spared another year.

I feel horrible for them. Their names are entered more times than required in exchange for tesserae, meaning they have a much higher chance of being drawn.

With my thoughts wandering, I finish the cakes in a matter of hours while my mother critiques them.

"Well, I guess they'll have to do. Now go get ready and rouse your brothers!" She commands when I compete the designs.

I wordlessly cover the small distance between mine and my brother's room and find them risen and already dressed. I quietly pull on my own dress clothes and make my way back to the kitchen and out to the front entrance. It is 1:45 and it is mandatory everyone be in the square by promptly two o'clock. If you decide not to show up, you die.

My family and I walk into the horde of people gathered in front of the huge stage where the reaping will take place. With us being on the "wealthier" side of the civilization, we try to blend in the best we can although it is somewhat a challenge for my Mother will often yell out something like "Hey, move it!" or, "Get out of the way!".

The second the clock strikes two, the mayor steps up to the wooden podium set center stage and begins to read off some old, worn pages. It's the same routine as every year; he speaks of the history of Panem. Our nation rose up out of the ashes of a place that was once known as North America and how the Capitol is set in a place that was once called the Rockies.

He then speaks of the disasters, lack of rain, horrific storms, fires and seas that swallowed up an erroneous amount of land. The aftermath of the disasters was the creation of the dystopian nation, Panem, and how thirteen districts ring the shining Capitol.

The Dark Days came however, causing the Districts to revolt against the Capitol, ending in the thirteenth District destroyed, the remaining Twelve beaten by the Capitol. They bombed 13, killed off everyone living there. The Treaty of Treason gave us new laws that guaranteed peace and promise for the Dark Days to never repeat themselves. Whereas, the Hunger Games were born.

In the Hunger Games, the rules are undeniably simple. One boy and one girl from each district are chosen out of a large ball filled with everyone's names according to age ranging from twelve to eighteen. The children who are reaped are called tributes and are forced to battle in a fight for survival. All twenty-four tributes are dumped in a dependable-sized arena in which can be any sort of climate or landscape. One year, it can be a huge forest, another, a barren desert, another, a huge ocean with only one island.

The tributes must literally fight to death in a series of weeks. The last participant standing wins. It is literally kill or be killed.

If that isn't sick enough, the Capitol takes the Hunger Games and picks out the Districts' children and treats them as little pieces in a game, literally. The Capitol makes a huge festivity over the Games and act as though it is a huge holiday, something to celebrate rather than watching innocent lives be taken.

It's sickening.

The only somewhat decent part of the Games, is that lucky tributes can earn sponsors in the Capitol and Districts who can gather up enough money to gift to a participant of their choice. For example, if a tribute is fatally wounded and needs some sort of medicine or one is dying of starvation, their mentor (the most recent victor from their District) snaps his fingers and sends in a little silver parachute which can, essentially, save their life. This only happens to the likable ones who have a more probable chance of winning.

Anyway, the winning tribute is sent back home and treated to a life of luxury in a place called Victor's Village. They are awarded riches, food, and their district is gifted delicacies such as sugar, grain, oil, salt.

"It is both a time for repentance and a time for thanks," the mayor concludes.

As tradition, he reads the names of the District 12 victors, or should I say name. There has only been two victors in seventy-four years from District 12 and only one still lives. His name is Haymitch Abernathy and the only word to really describe him is _alcoholic_. He stumbles on stage at the mention of his name and collapses into the chair next to our escort for District 12, Effie Trinket, in following, trying to give her a big hug which she barely wards off.

Effie has bright pink hair with pointy high heels and fancy Capitol clothing on. Despite the dreadfulness of the day, she wears a bright and happy smile. She's been the escort for District 12 long enough. You'd have thought she would've just lost the happy act by now.

District 12 is probably the biggest joke in all of Panem right now. Everything is televised so the mayor looks nervous and stressed. In attempt to pull the attention off of Haymitch, he introduces Effie Trinket as she cheerfully trots up to the podium where the two large reaping balls await her.

"Happy Hunger Games!" she cheers delightfully. "And may the odds be _ever_ in your favor!" Since her war with Haymitch, her pink hair seems slightly off-center, causing me to think it is a wig.

"Ladies first!" Effie sings, reaching her long manicured nails into the ball, shifting around and pulling out a single strip of paper.

It is so quiet in the square, a pin dropping could be heard. She smoothes the piece of paper, clears her throat and smiles, reading the name.

"Primrose Everdeen!"

* * *

Well. Hello. I'm going to try to do this as accordingly to the book as possible. The chapters will end at the same spots and I'm really sorry if I have similar wording to the book. I'm seriously not trying to plagiarize.

Reviews are greatly appreciated. (:

-FM


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the characters, plot line, or ideas of The Hunger Games.

I feel sympathy for the girl. She's only a small, scared-looking twelve-year-old. The crowd splits, allowing a large gap for her to travel thorough to access the stage. I'm watching her for a few seconds before it clicks. Her sister realizes it before me, but I can definitely see the resemblance now.

Primrose _Everdeen_. Katniss Everdeen's little sister. Katniss, the girl who trades the squirrels and the strawberries. Gale's girlfriend. The girl I've secretly loved since we were just five years old.

"Prim!" she gasps, staggering through the crowd and hooking onto the back of her little sister's shirt. "Prim!" She yanks the little girl behind her and, with wild eyes, gasps out the unthinkable. "I volunteer! I volunteer as a tribute!"

I knew she was going to do it. It is no surprise to me that the words slipped out of her mouth like melted butter. I think that Prim is one of the only people that Katniss really loves besides her mother and maybe even Gale.

A murmur of confusion sweeps over the crowd. A volunteer is practically unheard of since District 12 hasn't had one in decades. A loophole in the reaping is that once a tribute's name is called, a person of the same gender, who is eligible to participate, can take their place. In Districts like 1 and 2, kids train for the Hunger Games their whole lives which, by the way, is against the rules although no one reinforces them. Anyway, these kids are eager to get in the arena and risk their lives so volunteering is kind of a competition.

In District 12 though, a tribute basically means the woodman better start building a coffin for them.

"Lovely!" Effie Trinket joyously applauds. "But I believe there's a small matter of introducing the reaping winner and then asking for volunteers, and if one does come forth, then we, um…" she realizes she doesn't know where she's going with her sentence, causing her to trail off.

"What does it matter?" The mayor gruffly interjects. Her has a pained look on his face although I'm not sure why. Probably sympathy for Katniss. I think his daughter Madge and Katniss are friends… "What does it matter? Let her come forward."

Prim, who hasn't been exactly quiet through this whole ordeal, is screaming behind Katniss. She's wrapped her thin arms around her waist, no intention of letting go. The sight is heartbreaking. "No, Katniss! No! You can't go!"

"Prim, let go," Katniss hisses cruelly. "Let go!"

Suddenly, Gale is behind the sisters, peeling Prim off of Katniss and backing away, the little girl thrashing around in his arms. I think he murmurs something to her but I don't catch it.

"Well bravo!" claps Effie. "That's the spirit of the Games!" She's obviously excited that District 12 has a little action brewing for the first time in so long. "What's your name?"

Katniss braces herself and looks up with cold, hard eyes. "Katniss Everdeen."

"I bet my buttons that was your sister. Don't want her to steal all the glory, do we? Come on, everybody! Let's give a big round of applause to our newest tribute!"

No one claps. Everyone is much too shocked, including me. The girl I've secretly loved for eleven years, could be dead in a matter of weeks. The love for her sister is undeniable, of course, and I think everyone admired her act of heroism. Still, no one claps, not even the ones holding betting slips. Perhaps they knew her father, or knew her from the Hob. They respected her.

I remember her father. He was a tall, kind man, he traded in the bakery often. I remember my father telling me a story, the first day I laid eyes on Katniss while waiting in line to register for school. He told me that Katniss's father married the woman that my father was in love with. Wondering why Mrs. Everdeen would run off to a man from the Seam rather than a baker, I asked. My father told me that whenever Mr. Everdeen sang, all the birds stopped to listen. It made enough sense to me but I still didn't understand why she would turn down wealth and instead take a life in the Seam.

Later that day, a teacher asked if anyone knew the Valley Song and Katniss was selected to sing. She had indeed inherited her father's voice and I knew, like my father, I was falling for a young girl who I would probably never get.

Something surprising happens in the square. It's an old, rare gesture in District 12 but once it starts, everyone follows, including me. Each member of the crowd touches the three middle fingers of their left hand to their lips then holds it out to her. It means goodbye to someone you love. It's a symbol of admiration, sometimes used at funerals.

Ruining the moment, Haymitch staggers over to Katniss and throws an arm around her, etching disgust into her features. "Look at her. Look at this one! I like her! Lots of…" he pauses for a while, the alcohol probably fogging his brain while he searches for the correct word. "Spunk!" He concludes. "More than you!" He points to a random person in the crowd. "More than you!" He points to the camera this time, addressing the Capitol I think.

He opens his mouth to continue but his alcohol-induced mind causes him to plunge off the stage, knocking himself unconscious. Honestly, I don't even know the man yet he disgusts me. I'd hate for him to be my mentor if I were ever chosen. Heck, I never want to know him at all.

All the cameras avert to Haymitch but my eyes don't leave the girl onstage. She makes a small, sort of convulsing-looking movement but quickly composes herself, swinging her arms behind her back and staring off into the distance. Her eyes turn to rock hard frozen grey storms and her mouth forms a scowl again.

Some medics whisk away Haymitch on a stretcher and although he moves slightly, I doubt he's coherent in any way. Effie Trinket attempts to calm the crowd and spins the boys' ball.

"But more excitement to come! It's time to choose our boy tribute!" She fixes a hand on the crown of her head, trying desperately to keep some sort of stability on her wig.

Although I know it's highly unlikely, compared to all the other boys in District 12, my heartbeat picks up, as it does every year.

I cross my fingers and silently wish my friends good luck. She grabs the slip of paper and rushes back to the podium, adjusting the microphone and…

"Peeta Mellark!"

My mind is blank. I blink a few times in confusion. _Peeta Mellark_. The name sounds familiar. Where have I heard that name before? Oh.

My legs woodenly carry me up the steps, trying to conceal the pure shock on my face but I doubt it's working. My eyes, usually blue, are probably darker with fright. Willing myself to compose, I put on a look of courage and take my spot next to Katniss.

I have just been reaped in District 12. I, Peeta Mellark, will be fighting to death against twenty-three other tributes in one week. I try to comb my mind for some sort of strength I have. Nothing, the only weapon I could use is my artistic skills and who knows how that could possibly be helpful, and my strength. Not like I could possibly kill anyone with my bare hands. The idea is simply preposterous.

So, I jump to the only conclusion I can think of. I am going to die.

I vaguely hear Effie Trinket asking for volunteers but I know no one will offer to take my place. My brother… it's not that he's selfish, really. He just can't… devotion is tested on reaping day. I know I wouldn't take his place if the situation was reversed, so I don't blame him. And my other brother is too old. I don't want to look at my parents so I dont. I don't want to see the furious look upon my mothers face for losing a hand at the bakery. I don't want to see the pale face of my father, twisted in pain and sadness and loss.

They know I won't be returning.

I try to focus on something. Anything. The girl next to me? For eleven years, I'd tried to build up the strength to talk to her unsuccessfully. There was only one instance that was significantly planted in my memory.

She was starving and desperate so I don't even know if she remembered it. But I certainly do. And I know I'd never forget.

It was raining. I remember it because there was a bucket set in the middle of the floor where a leak in the roof. I'd accidentally tripped over it, causing a mess in the kitchen. Mother slapped me across the face and ordered that I clean it up, all the while yelling that I'd just wasted good drinking water.

I was taming the fire in the oven with a long stick when I heard her yelling. "Move on! Get out of here! Get! Do you want me calling the Peacekeepers? You're lucky I haven't already! I'm so sick of having you little brats from the Seam pawing through my trash! It's _disgusting_! Get out of here!"

I went out to investigate, peering out behind my mother's apron, gripping the back of her dress and watching the young girl. I knew who she was immediately, she was in my grade at school and she lived in the Seam. Her father had just died in the mine explosion a couple months ago so food was probably scarce around her house.

I felt horrible for this girl. Of course, my developing crush was already brewing by this time so naturally, I wanted to help.

Even after Mother slammed the door on the poor girl, I continued to watch for a minute, watching her collapse next to a tree in defeat, weakness showing on her face.

I left the window to return to the oven and, making good sure Mother watch watching, fed the bread to the fire, "accidentally" dropping it into the flames. I quickly fish it out but gasp in fake horror, waiting for my punishment. I'd already knocked over the water bucket, I can't imagine what she'd do to me now.

"You worthless little good-for-nothing child!" She hit me across the face with a bread board, making me cry out. "Go! Go outside!" She led me out the back and shoved me out the door. "Feed it to the pig, you stupid creature! Why not? No one decent will buy burned bread!" She slammed the door in my face and stomped back to the bakery.

I carefully began to rip away the worst damage to the two loaves I'd burned and threw them in the trough. I heard the bell ring in the front and, making sure no one was watching, I quickly threw the first loaf of bread in Katniss's direction, my eyes never leaving the pig. I glanced around again to make sure the coast was clear and threw the second loaf.

Before I could see her, I sloshed back into the bakery in the rain with my head down, rubbing my numb cheek. Peeking out the window once I was inside, I saw her looking incredulously down at the fresh loaves of bread. Realizing what happened, she stuffed the bread under her shirt and began to run in the general direction of the Seam.

I didn't do what I did to make her like me, or even appreciate my actions. I didn't do it so she'd notice me at school. I did it because when I looked at her, I didn't see the girl I'd had a crush on, I saw a poor, starving, skinny, father-less girl standing in the rain, days away from death.

The next day at school, my cheek had a large bruise on it. It was black and blue and quite ugly. I looked for Katniss, hoping to see some sort of improvement in her looks and physical well-being. I caught her eye a few times during the day but they quickly flitted away, refusing to meet mine.

_Did I do something wrong?_ I thought to myself. _Did she wish I hadn't…_ My mind conducted many reasons for her refusal to look at me.

After school, I saw her and her little sister in the front of the school yard. I admit I was staring but when she noticed me, I quickly dropped my gaze, not wanting to seem like a creep. For that one second, I think I might've seen a small thanks in them but I couldn't have been sure.

That was the first time I saw her smile. She looked at her sister and pointed to a little yellow fuzz in the grass. A dandelion. She picked it and handed it to Prim, then ran off towards their house, leaving me stand there in wonder.

I'll never forget that day. Not for my own selfish reasons, but because I think that the bread gave her strength, which is exactly what I had intended all along.

But now that we were going to be in the Hunger Games arena together, fighting for survival against each other, was nearly unbearable. I didn't want to kill her, I didn't want to be her enemy.

The mayor finishes reading the Treaty of Treason and gestures for Katniss and I to shake hands, breaking me out of my little daze. I look straight into her grey eyes with a cool expression and give her hand a little squeeze, trying to be reassuring.

Together, we look directly toward the cameras, facing our nation.

* * *

Yello! (: Okay, so I'm hoping I got the whole bread thing right… kind of mixed emotions as to whether I did it justice or not… Review?

-FM


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the characters, plot line, or ideas of The Hunger Games.

We are escorted to the Justice Building the moment the Anthem finishes. We aren't locked up, but we might as well be; I already feel like a prisoner. I quickly look in every direction I can, hungrily soaking up every imagine of District 12, the last ones I'll ever see.

When the Peacekeepers split Katniss and me up, I am thrown into a room padded with a soft red material. It takes a second to identify it but I recognize it as velvet. Mother has one dress with the soft stuff on it that she uses for special occasions. Sitting on the short couch- a love seat, I think it's called- I stroke the soft fabric, not wanting the waterworks to begin. I need to distract myself.

Father comes in first. I don't know why he and Mother doesn't join him, but I dont question it. He sits on the rich furniture and looks at me sadly.

"Father…" I begin, although I dont know where I'm going with my sentence.

"Son, remember not to underestimate yourself. You have many special gifts, you just need to recognize them."

"I dont, all I'm capable of doing is heaving around heavy sacks of flour! I can frost a cake, big deal. Katniss, she could win. With her hunting skills, she'll be lounging in a tree eating a rabbit, squirrel, and fish sandwich when the last tribute is fought off. She'll have killed him with an arrow from fifty feet in the air!" I'm not angry, but passionate. I know for sure, I have no chance of winning this thing.

"Peeta, your mother and I have faith in you. She may not show it but I promise she means well."

I look down at my hands, truly in danger of crying. Of anyone at home, I'll miss my father the most. He may be quiet but he is loving and kind.

"Thank you Father," I whisper.

"Goodbye, son." He approaches me and gives me a quick simple hug, giving my back a reassuring pat. Then he was gone. Just like that.

Next, my mother and brothers enter. My brothers approach me, both giving me half-hearted smiles and one-armed hugs.

"Bye guys," I mumble, giving them a slightly teary smile.

Mother sits in the velvet lined chair and looks at me. "You know, I'm thinking District 12 might finally have a winner this year. A strong, determined, good-looking tribute."

I straighten up and smile the tiniest bit, surprised to find my mother's faith in me.

"She's a survivor, that one. I mean, do you remember when her father died and she and her family were living on trash scraps? It's a wonder she's still alive."

I nod slowly, pretending I understood the whole time. No, of course she wasn't referring to me when she suggested we might have a winner this year. She meant Katniss.

"But, hey, try to keep yourself alive anyway. It will be hell to replace you at the bakery. Try at least, okay? That cozy house in Victor's Village sounds good."

"Yes Mother," I whisper, hurt that she wants me to win not because she loves me as her son and doesn't want me to die, but wants a warm house in Victor's Village and doesn't want to replace me at the bakery.

"Good. Let's go boys," she addressed my brothers. She didn't even pat my arm or give me reassurance. That stings, doubting your mother's love for you.

I don't really expect any other visitors after my family but my first smile since the reaping appears on my face as she walks in.

"Delly!" I happily chirp.

"Oh, Peeta. I'm so sorry," she sympathizes and embraces me. "This must be horrible for you."

"It's not the best," I admit.

"Well don't you worry, though. You're so big and strong, and a wonder with those cakes. Maybe you could take up some camouflaging," she smiles.

Huh, I'd never thought of that before. Leave it to Delly to turn this day into a positive. Then again, I'm not exactly sure how I could camouflage myself in a barren desert wasteland.

"Thanks, Delly. Thanks for coming, it means a lot," I say earnestly.

"Good luck Peeta. I'll be watching."

She leaves after giving me another quick hug and this time I know no more visitors will come to me. Being alone, I let it out. I know there are hundreds of cameras probably positioned around the room I'm in but I really couldn't care less. I'm going to die anyway, who cares if I come off as a weakling? Really, the faster I die, the better, that way I don't have to kill anyone.

But on the other hand, I really should try. Dying with honor is better than dying a weakling, an easy target. Maybe if I can get my hands on a large knife, I can defend myself. I suppose I make myself known to the audience so when I do die, it won't have been for nothing. Is that selfish? Maybe I can do it just so I won't get sponsors but people will feel sympathy for me.

Then again, I don't even know the situation yet. What the arena will be like, what kind of weapons there will be, what if there is mostly water? I will have to learn to swim. And what about Delly's camouflage suggestion? Maybe I can get past the first day at the huge Cornucopia that has weapons and food pouring from it's mouth.

Yes, that's doable. I set a goal for myself to just make it past the first day and who knows? Maybe I'll find something I'm good at during training.

My mind wanders to Katniss. What does she have to learn? She knows how to tie knots, snares, how else would she trap rabbits? She can shoot with incredible precision and probably distance, too. She can run, how else would she be so amazing at the sports we have at school? She can climb, how else would she stalk her prey? She can identify poisonous and edible plants, how else would she bring home the correct types of greens for her mother, a healer, and for trading?

Face it, I tell myself. She's amazing, of course she is. She could beat you in these game without batting an eye.

In the end, I hope it's not her that kills me. I know she's fierce and fast but I don't want my last living memory to be the girl I love standing above me with an arrow, ready to deliver the death shot. I shudder at the very thought. No, the Careers will probably kill me off.

Careers, the pre-trained eager tributes from the earlier Districts. The huge, muscular, tall ones who crave to kill. I think I am afraid of them.

Finally, I am summoned. It's time to leave District 12 for the journey to the Capitol. It is time to begin preparations. A Peacekeeper escorts me out of my velvet room and I see screens above me. One of me, my eyes and nose red from my stupid emotions. Katniss however, is looking fierce on the other screen. Eyes hard, chin raised, not a single emotion on her face. She is very good at this.

I meet her at the entrance of the train and we have to stand there for a minute or two while reporters greedily snap pictures and record our faces that will air in the Capitol later tonight. When we're finally allowed inside and the doors finally close, the train moves immediately, taking my breath away.

I've never been aboard something that moves so fast. Then again, the fastest moving form of transportation I've ever been in is the smaller coal trains down in the mines where we take a school field trip each year. I won't be required to work there however. I will work in the bakery with my family. Well, I _would have_.

This train is one built by the Capitol. It goes 250 miles per hour, guaranteeing our arrival in the Capitol to be in about a day, maybe less.

I push back some of my ashy-blonde hair that's in my eyes as Effie shows each of us a room where we will stay. I really need a haircut before I go into the arena. The rooms on the train are even fancier than the velvet ones in the Justice Building, we both have a bedroom, dressing area, private bathroom, and clothing. All luxuries I'd never dared hope I'd even see.

Effie leaves me at my room first, telling me to wear whatever I want from the closet and dresser drawers, order any food I'd like but dinner is in an hour so don't overdo anything.

I don't want to eat, I don't want to look at the fancy clothes because I know I'll never see anything like them again, why waste the last week of my surroundings on petty clothing? Instead, I just sit on the bed and stroke the fabric. It's not velvet like in the Justice building but it's very soft and kind of slippery. I have to wrack my brain for several seconds before it comes to me. Silk. Again, a small patch of it was cut up and sewn onto one of Mother's dresses.

I stand up, not being able to sit in the huge room that suddenly felt claustrophobic. I open my door and look around, checking to see if anyone was around. I explore the first hallway I come across, meandering along the wide tunnel and looking at the beautiful, expensive-looking things in awe.

I'm so absorbed in fact, that I bump into Haymitch, for once, not completely sick with liquor. He's drunk, yes, but he's aware.

"You boy," he slurs, only half looking at me, his eyes otherwise elsewhere. "You're too quiet, say something!" He grabbed me and throws an arm around my shoulders, positively repulsing me. I try to shrug him off but he hangs on tighter.

"Uhhh," is all I get out. I really don't want to be talking to this man. He smells horribly of liquor and his breath is so foul, I would probably pass out if he breathed right on me.

"Well fine then, boy. I'm going to take a nap. Maybe I'll come to supper," he laughs in a semi-hysterical way, as if someone just told a really good joke.

Shuddering slightly at the disgusting encounter, I continue to wander around the train, sometimes daring to look into certain rooms. I don't find a lot, mostly storage and bedrooms. The train is large so I can preoccupy myself for an hour or two at least.

This is what I do until Effie finds me and cheerfully expresses how pleased she is that I'm exploring. Like I'll be here long enough to even get used to the train. I'm hungry, but not starving. Finding the dining area is easy enough; just down the hallway. The room is exquisite with expensive wallpaper and fine dishware.

I sit in one of the two empty chairs. Katniss would have to sit next to me when she arrives. She joins the table a short while after I do along with Effie who is showing her around.

"Where's Haymitch?" Effie Trinket asks brightly.

"Last time I saw him, he was going to take a nap," I supply.

"Well, it's been an exhausting day." She's relieved Haymitch won't be joining us any time soon. I can't blame her, who would want to sit next to a vile, disgusting, alcohol-ridden man?

Our meal comes in courses, something I've never experienced other than having supper and the very, very rare dessert. Stale, but it's dessert. Carrot soup, green salad, lamb chops, mashed potatoes, cheese and fruit, and finally, a glorious-looking chocolate cake with exquisite designs. I would love to meet with the person who designed that…

I've never seen so much food in my life. I'd like to just take one bite of everything and try all the rich flavors. But at my mere first attempt at my experiment, I weaken. Effie tells us not to stuff ourselves since there is more coming but the food is spectacular, so delicious, I realize I'm practically inhaling everything. I tell myself to slow down when I realize the girl next to me in doing just about the same thing. I feel bad for her again; she's probably never had enough to eat in her life.

"At least, you two have decent manners," Effie smiles as we finish the main course. "The pair last year ate everything with their hands like a couple of savages. It completely upset my digestion."

_How rude_, I think. The two kids last year were from the Seam, like Katniss. They'd probably had empty bellies the majority of their lives so of course the copious amount of food had caused them to literally dig in.

Well, of course I know how to use utensils, I've had enough to eat in my life and I'm sure Katniss was brought up properly but I can tell Effie Trinket's comment angers both of us and Katniss very obviously eats the rest of the meal with her hands and wiping her hands on the tablecloth after she's done. I like it; shows Effie to disrespect our District.

I'm not used to such rich food after a life of stale bread and warm drinking water. So after the meal, I feel a little green, my supper threatening to make a reappearance. But after the most delicious food I've ever eaten, I'm determined to keep it down.

The three of us go to another part of the train I hadn't gotten to yet to watch the recap of the reapings in all the Districts. The Capitol tries to spread out the reapings throughout the day so everyone can watch them live but the only people who can actually do that are people in the Capitol since they aren't "candidates" for the Hunger Games; they dont have reapings.

In numerical order of the Districts, we watch as one boy and one girl step onstage to take their place. In Districts 1 and 2 mainly, we see a lot of disagreement about volunteering. Like I said before, everyone is eager to risk their lives in the arena. It's an _honor_ to be there. How sickening.

Really, only a few tributes stick out in my mind. The Careers from District 1 through 4. A tall slender girl with red hair from District 5 has a face that already makes me know to stay away from her. A big strong lumber boy from District 7. A boy with a bad foot from 10. The one that sends a chill through me though, is a small dark-toned girl from 11. She has the same stature as Katniss's little sister and I'm sure she notices this as well.

Lastly, the screen plays back the reaping from District 12. They show Prim's name being called, Katniss's wild desperation of pushing her little sister behind her and taking her place. They call me and I'm glad to see I quietly take my place, no emotion really seen. I shake hands with her Katniss and the anthem is playing behind the Capitol seal, ending the program.

The most of Effie's worries is how her wig looked, she's upset but even more so about Haymitch's presentation. "Your mentor has a lot to learn about presentation. A lot about televised behavior."

Oddly, I find her comment quite humorous. "He was drunk," I laugh. "He's drunk every year."

"Every day," Katniss chimes in, smirking.

"Yes," Effie says coldly, the first time I've ever heard her speak this way. "How odd you two find it amusing. You know your mentor is your lifeline to the world in these Games. The one who advises you, lines up your sponsors, and dictates the presentation of any gifts. Haymitch can well be the difference between your life and death!"

As if on cue, Haymitch thumps into the compartment where we sit, a horrible odor whisking throughout the air. "I miss supper?" he asks, clearly drunk. Suddenly, he vomit's a pool of bile all over the carpet and falls in it, unconscious. Yuck, what a truly disgusting man.

"So laugh away!" calls Effie as she prances away in her pointy shoes around the vomit and out of the room.

* * *

Oh my goshhh, I didn't realize how much longer this chapter was! Apologies to those of you who aren't too fond of that.

Alright, if I'm honest with you, Im not very happy with this chapter but I 'm not exactly sure how to improve it. Suggestions are open and constructive criticism is taken! Am I portraying Peeta's thoughts on Haymitch right? Did I do his family alright? Is Effie in character? Are Peeta's thoughts anti-Capitol enough? Thanks for reading, review!

-FM


	4. Author's Note

Holy freaking bejesus crap. I'm so sorry to spam you with an Author's Note, truly I am. I am also terribly sorry for leaving anyone who may have been keeping up with this story hanging.

I'm terrible. But for anyone who's familiar with my work, I actually have an excuse for my absence this time!

1) Shortly after beginning "A Piece in Their Games" I was offered a Summer Job. It was a five week program and I really enjoyed it.

2) Not even a week after I finished work, I was off to a music camp that I had received a scholarship for earlier this February. It was a week long and I just got back on Friday.

3) After I got back from camp, I was forced to jump right back into my dance season. I missed a captain's practice so I had to stay after practice yesterday. Besides that, I've just been home recooperating from the hectic schedule of SUMMER.

Again, I'm very, very sorry about this story being inexcusabley on hiatus without any sort of explanation for so long. Please try to understand that I'm going to try very hard to get this story back on track.

Thanks,  
Frankie


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